


Lather, Rinse, Repeat

by hobbeshalftail3469



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Hair Washing, Smutty Thoughts, Yearning, behave Robin, behave Strike, inuendos aplenty, no nookie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 12:50:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15685785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/pseuds/hobbeshalftail3469





	Lather, Rinse, Repeat

“I just don’t understand why you thought scrabbling around in a skip would help?” came Strike’s voice as he helped Robin into her flat.  
As she came through the door it was evident that she had been in a ‘scrape’ – both of her arms were covered in bandages and she was struggling to bend them at the elbows due to the strapping on each one.  
Strike followed, removed the keys from the door and closed it after them, plonking her large handbag down in the hallway and following her through to the small kitchen-lounge.  
She’d shrugged her jacket off, which had been draped around her shoulders and was slumped on the small sofa, looking thoroughly sorry for herself. Strike stifled a snigger at her dejected expression and pathetic, stiff arms poking out from her otherwise floppy body.  
She sensed rather than saw his reaction, “Oh, just shut up will you! It’s not like you’ve never got into a scrape in the name of work is it? Oh….no….only every other week!”  
He laughed out loud at her rant, “I don’t usually lose to a skip though!” he giggled, causing Robin’s shoulders to shake before she too joined in his good natured laughter.  
“Right….let’s get you settled then I can get home and get my leg off!” Strike stated in a business like manner. He retrieved her bag and located the prescription painkillers she’d been given. Opening the bottle he placed 2 pairs of 2 tablets on the kitchen counter and filled 2 glasses with water. “Have you got any straws?” he asked, considering that she wouldn’t really be able to lift the glasses to drink properly by herself.  
“Top cupboard near the hob,” she shouted. She’d gone through to her bedroom and from the muffled swearing it was evident she was attempting to get undressed. He heard a sigh followed by a clearly enunciated, “Bugger!” before she appeared back in the lounge wearing tartan pyjama bottoms and a baggy, wide necked sweatshirt.  
“Alright?” it was more of an invitation as it was evident that she wasn’t!  
She set her lips into a full pout, “Can’t unfasten my bra!”  
Cormoran raised one brow in his best James Bond manner; “Come ‘ere!” he came over to her, giving her a hug with his palm pressed against her back. “I can’t believe you jumped into a skip!” he said again as she buried her nose into the warmth and security of his shoulder. The feel of his wide, strong hand against her back was soothing, and he was rubbing his thumb with delicious intent against her top.  
Under usual circumstances Strike could have become aroused by his proximity to his partner; but her vulnerable state made him hyper aware of himself…..plus the fact that her normally honey-gold hair stunk of refuse!  
He released his hug, “OK you, pain killers over there, all set up you can have 2 lots before the morning and I’ve asked Ilsa to pop round to help you get dressed and stuff, that’ll give you the weekend to see how you feel for Monday….alright?” he started to head for the door.  
Robin smiled and took a couple of steps after him, briefly pausing and regarding him with a look of awe as she realised he’d unhooked her bra strap beneath her top. He grinned widely and waggled his eyebrows suggestively, “Man of many talents me!”  
She shook her head, smiling and laughing widely, before grimacing in horror as she caught a whiff of her hair.  
“Oh God! I smell like a skip!” she shouted aghast.  
“Well nobody told you to jump in one!” he retorted, still smiling so that those delicious crinkles formed at the side of his eyes.  
“I know, but I can’t wash it!” Robin stated, “Apart from the fact that I can’t get my hands up to my head, I can’t get these dressings wet can I?”  
Cormoran gave her a thoughtful look, “You could make an appointment at the hair dressers….or ask Ilsa to help in the morning,” he suggested.  
But Robin was now gagging as she used her shoulder to get the ends of her hair towards her nose.  
“I’ll never be able to sleep like this!” she wailed, “I stink! Why didn’t you tell me?”  
Strike gave a rueful shrug, “I didn’t think pointing it out would really help your mood if I’m honest!”  
“Cormoran?” she wheedled, giving him a pathetic, pouty, puppy eyed look. “You could help………”  
Strike inhaled deeply, his head dropping back as he tried to reconcile what she was asking. He already had mental images running through his head about unfastening her bra – not how he’d planned the first time of that to happen! But now, washing her hair……her hair that invaded so many of his daydreams; and featured sharply in other dreams he indulged in within the privacy of his own flat…at night….usually after a few Doom Bars!  
But on the other hand; she was a friend who needed his help. She’d done shit loads more for him over the time they’d known each other – whenever his knee gave him jip, or when he’d been pissed in the early days.  
Against his better judgement he found himself agreeing; the warm expression in her eyes made it worth it….but also reminded him of the need to be on guard with his emotions.  
Robin went through to the bathroom with Strike following behind. The flat, which Robin shared with Saba (an air hostess who was away on long hauls until Tuesday), had smallish rooms, but weirdly a largeish bathroom, containing a bath with a shower attachment above it. Robin was tugging down a couple of pale blue towels from the rail, with difficulty.  
“Get the shower attachment down and I’ll hang my head over the side of the bath,” she instructed. Strike was thankful; she seemed to be treating this as a purely business like activity. He rolled the sleeves up on his shirt to his elbows and Robin tried to avoid thinking about the dark, masculine hairs on his strong forearms.  
“OK, “he sniffed, reaching over her as she dropped to the floor, trying to kneel facing the bath, but her bent elbows preventing her getting close enough, so she instead had to kneel facing away from it and lean backwards.  
Shit. Fuck. Shit. Thought Strike as he realised he’d have to look directly into her face as he did this.  
Bugger. Shit, Get a grip. Thought Robin as she realised she’d be staring up into his face as he washed her hair….wasn’t there a bit in Out of Africa where Robert Redford did this to Meryl Streep?.....wasn’t it really erotic?  
He fiddled with the taps and waited while the water came to a decent temperature; the tension in the room palpable.  
Clearing his throat he indicated he was ready and she nodded with as neutral an expression as possible, leaning her head backwards over the bath as he began to run the water across the ends of her hair.  
He tried to focus on the process – he was immediately struck by how the colour of her hair changed as he doused the water across it. The ends were now a deep amber colour compared to the still dry roots. He was going to have to use his hand so as not to drown her, so he carefully spread his thumb and fingers, using his hand to shield her forehead and eyes and he sloughed the water down. Angling his hand slightly he repeated this over her ears and felt relatively safe in the fact that he was actually having to concentrate on his actions, which meant he was less likely to think about how completely beautiful she looked below him.  
Robin herself was grateful that he was being quite brisk and practical about this process – she could see he was focussing on covering her hair and trying to avoid her eyes with the water, but the sight of the underside of his forearm so close to her lips was tantalising. Get a bloody grip, woman!  
“Right…..which of these?” Cormoran indicated a vast array of bottles beside the tub.  
Robin giggled slightly, “Yeah, there are only 2 of us living here! The black bottle.”  
“There are 2 black ones!” he said exasperatedly, “Oh, hang on….shampoo, this one.” He selected the correct bottle and paused as he tipped it onto his palm…..how much should you use on hair the length of Robin’s? He knew how much he applied to his own….hers was about 12 times longer…..surely you didn’t need 12 times as much shampoo?!  
He eventually decided on a decent blob of the creamy, pearl coloured product and applied it to her scalp. He’d never had to deal with washing longer hair before and considered how he should go about covering the full length. He scooped her trailing locks up and swirled them into the thick bubbles being created by the shampoo, warm water and his fingers and found himself slightly mesmerised by the feel of her small skull beneath the luxurious foam and the intoxicating smell – it smelled like her morning arrival in the office only stronger. Again he was focussed on his task, but was slightly side tracked by watching his own dark haired fingers moving and appearing from the creamy bubbles.  
Robin was mesmerized and side tracked too…..the repeated motion of Cormoran’s strong fingers working across her head; his thumbs swirling against her temples and scalp was both relaxing and traumatic – she was having a hard time stopping herself from moaning with pleasure. She wasn’t sure whether closing her eyes would make it better or worse, so she kept them open, looking at the way the tiles met the ceiling; the way Cormoran’s lips were slightly parted in concentration….shit, back to the tiles….count the tiles, 1,2,3……oh God 4….4 tiles, 5,6….  
After what felt like far too long – he had become so focussed on the feel of the silky texture beneath his hands he’d lost track of time – he realised he should start rinsing off the shampoo.  
The sensation of sliding his hand across her head was heightened by the silky feel of her hair now; the shampoo and bubbles had changed the way it felt beneath his palm and it was all he could do not to gasp at the feel of it’s silky, fluidity through his fingers. He cleared his throat and flexed his neck slightly as he tried to focus on the bubbles draining down the plughole.  
Robin was now lost beneath him. The sensation of his hands against her head was deliciously relaxing, and somehow felt completely different to when the young assistant did the same thing at her salon!  
“Is it the other stuff now…I presume it’s a conditioner,” he said, reaching for the second black bottle which had the same labelling as the shampoo.  
“Er….no, erm….I always shampoo twice on hair as long as mine,” she had just enough movement beneath her bandages to cross her fingers – she’d stopped rinsing and repeating years ago!  
“Oh, right….sorry,” Cormoran picked up the first bottle and silently thanked shampoo companies for their marketing ploy of instilling ‘lather, rinse, repeat’ into the psyche!  
The second shampoo felt even better – the product lathered to an amazing amount of foam and he enjoyed swirling it around, finding threads of her amber locks peeking through as he massaged and felt her head pushing back against his pressure.  
It felt like they had been silent for too long,  
“You’re good at this,” Robin purred, “Another of your many hidden talents, Mr Strike?” she raised her brows mischievously.  
He shrugged, and pursed his mouth as he began to sweep large clouds of the shampoo foam off her hair and into the bath.  
“Well, if it is, it was hidden from me until 10 minutes ago! Never done this on anyone except myself……and a very ill fated attempt on a seagull covered in oil I found on the beach once!” he smirked.  
This felt better she thought, chatting and joking…..nothing to read into the fact that she was within biting distance of his thigh and chest as he bent over her to rinse off the bubbles.  
“How much of this stuff?” he held up the conditioner bottle.  
Robin smiled at his limited knowledge about female beauty regimes,  
“About the same amount as two ketchup sachets,” she considered, knowing that this was the exact amount he usually added to a bacon butty.  
He grinned as he squirted out the appropriate amount and started to slather it onto her hair. He was momentarily surprised that it didn’t lather up at all, but he couldn’t help becoming slightly aroused by the sensation of it sliding through his fingers; especially because Robin had closed fluttering lids and her lips parted slightly as he worked.  
He allowed himself to run his splayed fingers the full length of her hair, fanning it out in a pleasing pattern against the side of the bath as she lay back in relaxation. She looked like an Egyptian goddess, and he fought the desire to kiss her with every fibre of his being.  
Reaching for the shower attachment again he began to remove the conditioner and had to stifle a groan at the effect it had upon the feel of her wet hair.  
Fuck. Fuck. Oh my fucking God.  
Robin’s hair felt like the softest, floating seaweed trailing through his fingers; slipping against his wet skin and it was glorious. He made the mistake of briefly imagining what it would feel like to have it swirling against his chest; or even lower….no, no, stop thinking that for fuck’s sake and rinse it off. He brought his attention down to the water spurting from the shower head and winced.  
Why was it called a shower HEAD!?! That really wasn’t helpful right now!!!  
Robin realised that she’d closed her eyes as he worked the conditioner through her hair and was enjoying the feeling of his fingers moving fluidly through her wet locks far too much. She opened them again and briefly saw a pained expression on Cormoran’s face.  
“Is your leg hurting?” she asked. Shit, she realised he’d been bending over her for a good twenty minutes whilst she imagined all kinds of….well…..let’s just say alternative uses for hair conditioner!  
Strike snapped out of his daydream at the sound of her voice.  
“No, It’s OK….almost finished anyway,” he nodded and sniffed, physically shaking away the images, “Bit of stray water,” he lied.  
He turned off the water and somewhat clumsily wrapped one of the blue towels around her head before she clambered up and padded into her bedroom.  
Strike looked at himself in the large, steamy mirror above the sink and gave himself a look – one that said, ‘Don’t be a stupid fucker!’  
Robin was breathing a sigh of relief….she’d managed to somehow not embarrass herself despite the range of mental images she was storing away and allowing herself to indulge in throughout that incredibly thorough lathering!  
She looked at herself in the small mirror above her drawers and gave herself a look – one that said, ‘Don’t make a fool of yourself now!’  
“Come through, you’ll have to dry it in here,” she shouted to him.  
“Dry it?” muttered Strike, “Yeah, Ok, just coming,” he sighed as he went through to Robin’s bedroom. He’d never seen it before – she’d moved here shortly after leaving Matthew and filing for divorce and he’d been very careful, more careful than before, to leave a professional distance between them so as best to maintain his equilibrium.  
She was perched on the end of her double bed and he could see a hair dryer plugged in next to the small chest of drawers.  
He pointed at it and she nodded, “If you give it a rub first it’ll take less time,” she stated naively.  
Cormoran raised one brow lasciviously, “That’s usually the case!” he growled, picking up the dryer and moving the trailing lead so that he could position himself more easily. Robin pursed her cheeks and rolled her eyes.  
He pummelled the towel on top of Robin’s head, causing her to let out a slightly strangled squeal.  
“Sorry….too rough?” he queried.  
“Just comb it through,” she giggled, trying to remove the way he said ‘rough’ from her mental records.  
Despite the tangled mess on her head Cormoran was surprised that the wide toothed comb glided through Robin’s hair easily. He picked up the dryer and investigated the various switches, selecting one which resulted in a focussed stream of hot air. He directed it onto her hair and she shook her head slightly to speed up the process – she wouldn’t expect him to use a brush and style it, but at least she no longer smelt like refuse!  
Cormoran watched as the air began to alter the colour of Robin’s hair from deep russet to amber and then the familiar honey-gold he associated with her began to show through. He smiled as he saw the transformation and became focussed on moving the air around in order to cover all of her hair.  
“This is the point when you’re supposed to ask whether I’m going anywhere nice for my holidays,” Robin smirked, able to see him fractionally in the reflection of the mirror. She saw him grin at her comment.  
“No point…I don’t pay you enough for a holiday!” he bantered. “How do I get the underneath bit dry?” he asked.  
Robin tried to indicate with her bandaged arms but gave up and tried to describe instead, “ Sort of lift your fingers up and through it….like you did with the conditioner and blast the hair dryer….you can turn the hair dryer around,” she noticed he’d been holding it by the handle and pointing it straight the whole time.  
Strike followed her instructions and nodded with the improvement he saw to his drying style.  
All too soon it was done. The gleaming sheet of hair hung down her back and looked tousled and as sexy as hell around her face where it had fallen without the aid of a brush to style it formally.  
“Thanks,” Robin drawled, smiling seductively at him in the mirror.  
Cormoran nodded and stood up, “Yeah,” he replied…..it took him back to that time in Vashti when he’d seen her in that green dress.  
“So…..Ilsa is popping to look in on me in the morning and I smell considerably better…..so, bed is calling….and you need to go get your leg off,” she smiled.  
Strike mentally chastised himself for thinking about what he’d much rather be getting off, but was grateful that he’d not embarrassed himself.  
“Night, sleep well,” he added as he collected his coat from the hallway. “I’ll lock the door after me so you can stay put, OK?”  
________  
Cormoran plodded towards the tube, a clear mental image of Robin with tousled hair invading his thoughts as he waited for the next train. He didn’t mind the wait, but he was eager to get back to his flat. He brought his hands to his face to blow on them and warm them up a little……shit, they smelled of her; he had Robin smelling hands….oh dear; that didn’t bode well for a full night’s sleep!


End file.
